Escaping his demons

Paul Singh began using heroin at 15. Almost inevitably, a life of crime to feed his habit followed, and then prison. Now he's clean again, he tells Alison Benjamin, but knows he has a massive task ahead of him to stay that way

Service user Paul Singh: "What they're not getting is I've never [been to college]. Something you don't understand, you don't want to do. I'm not ready for that." Photograph: David Sillitoe

Paul Singh has been clean for four weeks. How long he will be able to stay off the heroin this time is anyone's guess. Since the age of 15, he has been smoking it. A few years later he began injecting. Now 28, he has enjoyed a few periods of respite - in prison, at a Christian rehabilitation centre, and during a 12-week social skills day-care programme, but he has always relapsed. "It's really hard," he says. "I don't like being the way I am, but I dunno, I'm just stuck."

Singh's troubles began as a young child growing up in Small Heath, a predominately Asian area of Birmingham, the son of a Sikh father and white mother. He claims domestic strife and depression were a common feature of family life, to the point where his aunt considered adopting him. "Terrible things went on," he says. He carefully recalls a couple of incidents, concluding "That's pretty bad, innit?"

He was six years old when his mother finally kicked out Singh's father. A string of relationships followed which produced three half-sisters. "This sounds bad," he warns me, when I inquire further. "They all have different fathers."

By the time Singh entered secondary school he was stealing money out of his mother's purse to buy cigarettes. "I used to think I was a big man. Taking girls out when I was only 13, of course they were impressed, good looking guy an' all." He smiles wryly. He can be intense and a little edgy, his speech punctuated with references to his good points. "I'm pretty bright, quick to pick things up," he says, giving himself the pat on the back he never received from parents or teachers.

"My Mum'd never say, 'Good on yer, Paul.' I've never kissed or hugged her." But he is not trying to excuse his behaviour. "I'm disgusted with myself when I look back," he says. He started disappearing at the weekends, playing truant and stealing Christmas presents. "My mum was pregnant and single again. I knew I was giving her a really hard time," he admits. "I don't know why I did it."

Unable to cope, she found her 15-year-old son a place in a hostel. While there, Singh fell in with an older crowd who smoked heroin. Until then he had only used cannabis, but, drawn by the buzz his new friends seemed to be enjoying and wanting to be part of the crowd, he became a regular user. It was the start of a downward spiral that lasted for more than a decade, and from whose grip Singh is still battling to escape.

Then his situation seemed to improve. He had sought out his father, who was living nearby, and moved out of the hostel into his flat. But the relationship quickly broke down. "I didn't go to the council to get my housing benefit forms, so he kicked me out," Singh says. Angered by his father's rejection, and needing money to buy heroin, he broke into his father's flat and stole the TV and video. He and his father had a huge fight and he has not seen him since. "I don't care," says Singh, shrugging his shoulders.

Unbelievable pain

He moved in with his aunt and helped look after her three children. What she didn't know, however, was that while she was at work his mates were coming round to the house to smoke heroin. Before long, he started stealing from her to feed what was by now a £50-a-day habit. "I bet you're thinking that's mad, innit?" he says. He tries to explain his actions. "I didn't used to think of anyone. All I thought about was getting the money for the drugs, otherwise I'd be in that much pain it was unbelievable."

Inevitably, he started shoplifting and stealing cars. After a number of cautions, aged 21 he was given a two-year prison sentence for burglary. Over the next six years or so - he's not clear on the dates - Singh was in and out of jail, much of it on remand. He reels off a list of the prisons. Within hours of release, he always readopted the same pattern: back on the drugs, shoplifting, arrest.

Singh says: "You know that geezer who brings you to court? We were on first name terms. 'Oh, you again Paul,' he'd say. 'Don't you want to sort your life out?'

And did he? "I had people come to the cell and ask if I wanted help with my drugs. But I was angry. I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't care about getting better. I just wanted to get bail and get my next fix."

During a longer spell inside, he received help from the Carat drugs team (Counselling, Assessment, Referral, Advice and Throughcare), but on release he was given a bed in a hostel in Wolverhampton where everyone was injecting. He overdosed and was rushed to hospital.

Why does he think the counselling failed? "I don't know. I had nothing. I didn't care about myself. I looked a mess. I smelled. I was sleeping in alleyways, in derelict buildings, eating food out of skips." It was a vicious circle; the worse he felt about himself, the more he needed the heroin. "It used to black out all the grief I was going through. It used to take it away for a few hours." He adds: "If I got something good I'd wreck it. I was kicked out of hostels and flats."

Today, he is well turned out, in his Burberry-check shirt and jeans, and eager to tell people that he is a "good lad" and not a "dirty druggie". His intermittent recovery began two or three years ago. After another spell in prison, he finally decided he had "hit rock bottom" and did need help. He turned to the only member of his family still speaking to him- an aunt who is a probation officer. She checked him into a free rehab in south Derbyshire, run by the Christian Betel of Britain community. He hated the proselytising, but the strict regime and discipline paid off. Nine months later, he was drugs-free.

Back in Birmingham, living at a "dry house" run by a Christian woman, he began attending Narcotics Anonymous and another weekly group counselling project, where he met his girlfriend, Denise. Despite being warned of the likelihood of relapsing in a relationship, he moved in with Denise and her two children.

They both started smoking again. A social worker discovered their secret and the children were taken into care. Asked why he relapsed, Singh replies. "Stress with the kids. They were a real handful." Since then there have been periods when heroin has been substituted by a methadone script and counselling. Earlier this year, the couple were referred to Turning Point's Zephyr programme. For the first time, Singh had something constructive to do each day, from learning how to use a computer to making clay models. When the 12-week programme ended, he says he was "devastated". Despite aftercare two days a week, the couple started smoking heroin again. "It was boredom," he says. "I was isolated. Stuck in the house 24/7."

"Diane [one of the Turning Point workers] was very disappointed. She told me I've got a lot of potential. I know that, but ..." he trails off. Other counsellors are trying to get him onto college courses. "What they're not getting is that I've never done it. Something you don't understand, you don't want to do. I'm not ready for that."

He also has no experience of employment, though while in prison he achieved painting and decorating NVQ levels I and II. He says he would like to work.

Waiting game

Singh believes he and his girlfriend both need more support in many aspects of their life, but feels that no one listens to people like him. "If you're rich you can get help straight away, but I'm on a waiting list for an anger management course. Denise has just started receiving counselling for depression she's had since the kids were taken away and a miscarriage she had around the same time. That's taken six months!" he says frustratedly.

The couple are making another valiant attempt to live without heroin. But with no friends or family to fall back on, and nothing to do, Singh knows that a simple stroke of bad luck could set them back.

"I'm much better than I used to be," he stresses. But his achievement is tempered. "We're taking it each day at a time. It's an ongoing struggle and it's not getting any better." What does he think is the answer? "A day centre, like the Zephyr programme, but for six months," he replies. "That would be enough time to really recover and increase your life skills, your computer skills and your confidence."